


Goodnight America, Wherever You Are

by unnaturalhistory



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: And probably a lot of therapy, Angst, Doug Eiffel needs a hug, Gen, archive warning because all his friends are dead, spoilers for Mayday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:30:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8569648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnaturalhistory/pseuds/unnaturalhistory
Summary: (old fic, reposted here from tumblr)Douglas Eiffel makes it to the Hermes. Spoilers through to Mayday, at which point things take a sharp turn into the non-canonical (and likely unfeasible).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from voiceoflightcity, because after Mayday, I was having way too many feelings.

In the end, it was Hilbert that saved him. It was one more reason to hate the guy.

If it weren’t for the voice of that cackling mad scientist in his ear, Doug would never have fixed the cryo chamber, never realized that he was using all the water in the shuttle faster than he could have anticipated, never made it to the final course correction that ensured he would meet up with the Hermes… eventually. Probably. He didn’t let himself think about how long that ‘eventually’ really would be, even with Hilbert’s endless attempts to make him listen. Eiffel drowned out Hilbert’s voice with the others’ voices or singing as loud as his increasingly shredded vocal chords could manage when he could, and put himself into cryosleep when he couldn’t. At least when he was frozen he didn’t have to deal with the creeping, gut-wrenching dread of being alone in the vastness of space, with nothing but the voices in his head to keep him company.

Once the final course adjustment had been made, it was just a waiting game. Eiffel had stopped sending out mayday messages somewhere around day 300, instead opting to program in a distress call that would (hopefully) trigger automatically as they approached (what was probably) the intercept with Hermes. Hilbert muttered something about mathematical realities that made Eiffel’s too-empty stomach clench, but he had long experience ignoring the good doctor by that point, and instead turned back to the cryo chamber.

Time was the problem, and that one shitty little cryo chamber was the closest thing to a solution that he had. He wanted to give up hope, if he was honest with himself, let Hilbert talk him into taking a walk out the non-existent airlock without a suit and let himself get turned into a Dougsicle – he already spent 90% of his time frozen as it was. But Hera and Minkowski kept bothering him, refusing to let him give up, and when even they couldn’t punch through the growing despair it was Lovelace who would slap him in the face and tell him he wasn’t allowed to die. Not without trying every last possible thing he could to survive, and then some. So, the cryo chamber it was. The soft beds where his finger- and toenails used to be were crusted with blood, nosebleeds were getting more common, and he wasn’t sure whether it was his cracked lips or his gums that made his mouth constantly taste like blood, but considering he was only planning on going under one more time that probably wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Probably. He ran a hand over the top of the capsule and wished, not for the first time, that he had a sticky note, or a marker, or _something_ to leave a note on it for whoever found him. It was too late for that now.

“Well, one more deep freeze it is, then.”

“You’re going to make it through this,” said Hera.

“Do what you have to do to stay alive,” said Minkowski.

“Don’t die,” said Lovelace.

“You’re making a mistake, Eiffel,” Hilbert warned.

“Sorry, Doc, majority rules,” Doug replied, already climbing into the cryo chamber. The controls were second nature to him now, even with the intermittent tremors that had plagued him since about day 249. He pressed the buttons that would initiate the freezing sequence, and tried to relax. “Goodnight, America, wherever you are.” The now-familiar cold sucked him down into darkness, and he fell into it gladly.

It was a very long time before he woke up again.

***

 ****Light. Pain.

Doug felt his whole body spasm as the cryo fluid sloughed away, muscles contracting in a desperate attempt to warm him up. There were voices, too many voices, he couldn’t tell if he knew any of them or not, and–

“Don’t die!” hissed Lovelace, right in his ear, and he tried to breathe.

He tried again.

Panic took over and he started to struggle, managing nothing but choked, desperate grunts. Something was wrong. His arms and legs were strapped down, wouldn’t move, his eyes wouldn’t focus. Something was–

A tiny sting in his arm, and the darkness came for him once again. He redoubled his efforts, but to no avail. As the darkness closed in, Lovelace’s voice echoed in his ear, overpowering the others. “ _Don’t. Die._ ”

***

It was a surprise when he woke up the second time. He was lying down, which meant gravity, which was an odd feeling. Bright lights and the quiet beeping of medical instruments would have clued him in even if the pervasive antiseptic smell hadn’t screamed 'hospital’ before he was even aware that he was waking up. That smell, along with the white-coated figure standing over him, triggered an immediate panic reaction.

He struggled to sit up, escape, but his muscles didn’t seem to want to cooperate. The attempts at moving also made every single one of them scream with pain, but even so he struggled for a few more seconds until his eyes focused. When he realized that the person standing over him had a) hair and b) breasts, he relaxed somewhat. Unless this was a _very_ weird nightmare, that wasn’t Hilbert.

“Glad to see you finally awake,” the woman – doctor, he presumed – said. “I’m Doctor Garrick, I’ve been looking after you. How are you feeling, Officer Eiffel?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” Doug croaked, and god, even his voice sounded like it hurt. “…Make that several trucks. Where–?”

“You’re on the U.S.S. Hermes,” Garrick cut in, her voice calm and level. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Mr. Lucky, that’s me,” he replied, with a laugh that quickly turned into a hacking cough.

“Try to take it easy, Officer Eiffel; you’re still recovering.” Garrick moved to his side, placing a hand on his forehead briefly. Following her gaze, Doug saw that she was looking at the incomprehensible numbers and lines moving on a machine set up next to his bed. She made a few adjustments to something on the machine, then stepped back. When she continued, it was without meeting his eyes. “You were in cryogenic suspension for– a very long time, and even at the rate you’ve been healing you’re going to be in this bed for a while longer.”

Doug felt his heart stutter over that little pause. “…How long are we talking here, like, months, or years, or…” He trailed off, hoping the good doctor would fill in the gap. She opted to stay quiet, fidgeting with her hair and not meeting his eyes, and with every second the silence stretched on he could feel his breath coming a little faster, his mouth getting a little drier. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging here,” he said finally.

Garrick dropped the piece of hair she was toying with like it had burned her, visibly trying to regain some of her professional poise. “It’s… difficult to say exactly,” she said, slowly.

“Gimme a ballpark?” Doug asked, trying not to panic, and mostly failing.

“It might be better to wait until you’re feeling–” the doctor began, but was cut off by a shrill, important-sounding alarm coming from the machine at Doug’s bedside.

“That sounds… bad,” Doug said. The alarm seemed to get more insistent.

The doctor ran a hand through her hair. “You should try and avoid getting too excited, Officer Eiffel,” she said, back to the soothing tone. Maybe the alarm had something to do with heartrate? “You were in cryogenic suspension long enough for your muscles to atrophy a dangerous amount, and even with the muscle regrowth treatments you should be careful not to overtax your systems–”

“Muscle regrowth?” Doug asked, incredulity straining his voice, which of course triggered another coughing fit. Garrick rushed over to the machine, doing something that sent a cool wave of _something_ into his arm. Almost immediately, his breath started to come easier. “Uh, I don’t think that was something they had when I left Earth,” he added, once he could speak again.

The doctor glanced at the machine, which had thankfully stopped screaming, then back at Doug. “…They didn’t. Or, at least, I’m relatively sure they didn’t.”

Doug did his best to control his breathing, trying to keep his heart rate low. “So, what, it’s been… a couple years?” Silence. “A couple… decades?” More silence. “Oh, come on, you could tell me but then you’d have to kill me? I’m already halfway there as it is, what with the freezer burn.”

Garrick grimaced, and crossed her arms. “They didn’t want us to tell you yet, not until you were recovered,” she said, sounding apologetic. “But… well, I honestly don’t think letting you speculate is going to be any better for your health.” She paused again, and for a moment Doug wondered if she had changed her mind, but then she dropped her arms to her sides and sighed. “It’s hard to tell exactly, but from what little we could recover from your flight computer and other instruments… you were frozen for just over six thousand years.”

Though he was lying down, Doug felt a sudden sense of vertigo, as if he had suddenly been shoved back into zero gravity. “Six…” He couldn’t wrap his mind around it, not really, but one thought managed to bubble to the surface of the confusion: _they’re all gone._

Garrick looked as though she wanted to say something, but then pressed her lips together into a thin line. Something about the gesture reminded Doug suddenly and painfully of Minkowski, and he had to look away. “…Get some rest, Officer Eiffel. I’ll be back to check on you in an hour or so.” The professional mask had come down again, though there was a softness in her voice that hadn’t been there before. She hesitated for a moment, then turned away. The door closed behind her with a quiet click. Doug looked back over to where she had been, and saw a second white-coated figure standing by the door, arms crossed.

“You never listen,” Hilbert said. “Mathematical realities, remember? A full light year to cross, at seventeen thousand miles per hour, and you thought, 'no problem’?”

“Leave me alone,” Doug croaked, voice thick. Hilbert didn’t reply, but when he blinked again the room was empty save for the quietly beeping machine at his side.

He was alone.

He was alive.

Doug started to cry.


End file.
